


The Havoc of Goblins (Miryem and the Purim Goblins, part 1)

by starfishstar



Series: Miryem and the Purim Goblins [2]
Category: Spinning Silver - Naomi Novik
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 2, Gen, Women Being Awesome, Yiddish folktale retellings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:21:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29468619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfishstar/pseuds/starfishstar
Summary: “Miryem,” my grandmother said, calling me to her. “I think you may be able to help this man.”
Series: Miryem and the Purim Goblins [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2164557
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12
Collections: Purimgifts 2021





	The Havoc of Goblins (Miryem and the Purim Goblins, part 1)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chestnut_filly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chestnut_filly/gifts).



I knew my grandfather’s reputation for business acumen; I knew my grandmother’s reputation for sensible advice in the face of the world’s troubles. What I wasn’t expecting was to be called upon for advice of my own.

Spring was a long way off, but the festive holiday of Purim was approaching. I planned to make one of my periodic visits to the village where my parents lived and where Wanda still managed their business with an increasingly sure hand.

I went to my grandparents’ house to ask my grandfather, as I always did, to keep an eye on my affairs while I was away from the city. Instead, I found my grandmother in the kitchen with a particularly worried-looking advice seeker.

The young man had the look of a villager, in sturdy, homespun clothes. His hands twisted together as he perched on a chair, a plate of apple cake nearly untouched in front of him.

“Miryem,” my grandmother said, calling me to her. “I think you may be able to help this man.”

I leaned in to kiss her cheek, then sat at the table across from the visitor. I looked at my grandmother, awaiting explanation, for I couldn’t fathom why she thought my insight might be more useful than her own.

My grandmother gave the man a kindly smile. “If you would like to tell your story to my granddaughter, she may be able to help. She has experience of those who are not of our world.”

Ah, so that was it. My grandmother thought my knowledge of the ways of the Staryk would be somehow of use.

The man looked at me fearfully. No one liked to think too much about the Staryk, or any of the other beings who inhabited the woods and waters of our corner of the world, the witches and goblins and rusalki alongside whom we humans lived in uneasy coexistence.

His voice hesitant, the man began, “As you know, it’s nearly Purim.”

I nodded; my grandmother had begun preparing the fillings for hamantaschen, and I’d seen my youngest cousins running in and out of the house, trying on colorful clothing to create costumes as Queen Esther, Queen Vashti, or even Mordecai with a long white scarf as a beard.

“In our village,” the man continued, “we can’t celebrate. A horde of goblins lives in a nearby cave and they hate to see us have any fun. Every Purim they steal our groggers and throw our festive foods to the floor and break our jugs of wine. Our children have given up making costumes. Our bakers no longer bake hamantaschen. Purim is our saddest time of year.”

“Perhaps you could go, Miryem,” my grandmother said in her gentle voice. “This village lies nearly on the way to your parents. And I’m sure they would appreciate your help.”

 _Goblins are not Staryk_ , I wanted to say. Staryk can be cruel, but they follow rules of their own, which are logical once you make sense of them. Goblins just like to destroy things for the fun of it.

But my grandmother was looking at me with her steady gaze, and the man was now staring at me too, with such hope and surprise, as if he’d never before met anyone who was willing to tangle with goblins. Perhaps he hadn’t.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll go.”

The next morning, I climbed into a cart pulled by a sturdy horse alongside the man, whose name was Moishe. The ground was hard with winter but free of snow, although threatening clouds hung in the distance, and we made good time.

As we rode into the village, small children caught sight of us and went running, bearing the news that Moishe had returned from the city with a stranger in his cart. By the time we arrived at the square that served as the village gathering place, in front of the little synagogue, it was full of onlookers. Moishe’s village, unlike the one where my parents lived, was populated entirely by our own people, and soon it seemed the entire community was there. The rabbi, too, stood pensively with his hands clasped behind his back.

I had a moment, though a brief one, of wondering if I was about to disappoint all of these people with their bright, eager eyes fixed on me. But I clapped my hands together and said, “Please tell me everything you know about the goblins.”

“They live in a cave just beyond that hill,” said one man, pointing.

“They love best to break the children’s toys,” said a stooped, elderly woman. “It’s not yet Purim and they’ve already stolen our groggers.”

“They smell terrible,” said a little girl, wrinkling her nose.

“And they have BIG TEETH!” said an even littler boy beside her, jumping up and down.

“They hate the rain,” offered a quiet young woman with wide eyes. “I saw them run, shrieking, one time when they were out and it started to rain. The only peaceful holidays we’ve ever had were ones when it was raining.”

Perhaps I could work with that. I glanced up at the sky, where the clouds loomed closer. The air was cold but not bitter, which gave me hope that the clouds bore rain rather than snow.

The rabbi’s family, who lived beside the synagogue, invited me to a meal while I formulated my plan and waited for the weather to turn. The rabbi spoke to me as his wife ladled soup into bowls. “I must admit that don’t like this,” he said. “I believe we ought to be able to solve our own problems, without placing that burden on anyone else. Least of all a young woman such as yourself.”

The words were kindly meant, and his eyes as he spoke were warm, but it made me all the more determined to succeed.

“I’ll need a long robe,” I said. “And a large jar with a lid that can be fastened.”

**Author's Note:**

> Next up: In which Miryem must outwit goblins…


End file.
